


Sterek Drabbles October 2018

by Jmeelee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drabbles, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: 12 drabbles based off the prompts from the tumblr blog Sterek Drabbles.





	Sterek Drabbles October 2018

**Snail, Deer, Dash** (10/1/2018)

Derek thought he’d have to leave Dungeons and Dragons behind in high school, so he was thrilled to find the flyer—seemingly hand-written by a tipsy garden snail— tacked to the bulletin board in the quad: players wanted.

The first night of the campaign he dashed to the library. He walked into the study room, and the cutest guy he’d ever seen—lithe body, large, luscious mouth, deer-in-headlights eyes, muscular forearms— pointed to him with an obscenely long finger. “You’re in my party, hotstuff.”

That night, Derek put his high charisma rating to good use, and had his most successful adventure ever.

 **Print, Anger, Middle** (10/3/2018)

“So could Derek, like, imprint on me?” Stiles mock whispered to the three people sitting around the table.

“That’s Twilight, Stiles,” Cora sniggered. “Get your teen romance genres straight.”

“The whole reason we’re having this conversation is because they’re decidedly not straight,” Laura laughed.

Derek gave his sisters the middle finger. “I knew we should have had mom here for the big reveal.”

“Hey,” Stiles smiled, reaching over to grab Derek’s hand. “Don’t be angry. Vampire, werewolf, chupacabra; doesn’t matter. I’ll always feel the same about you.”

Three Hale’s breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Me too, Stiles. Me too.”

 **Knit, Tender, Kiss** (10/5/2018)

Stiles’ arms screamed, muscles tender and abused from hours at battle. The opponent before him now was ruthless, strong as ten men and as beautiful as a hundred.

Stiles lunged forward and lashed at the warrior’s leg, opening a shallow cut on his upper thigh. The bloom of red made his heart sing. But his enemy’s wound began to heal, skin knitting together before his eyes.

“Are you the devil?” Stiles whispered, terrified and captivated.

His enemy’s blade kissed his throat in seconds. “Surrender,” the beautiful demon demanded.

Stiles smiled, teeth stained with blood. He never could follow orders. “No.”

 **Pole, Jungle, Warrant** (10/8/2018)

The pack was staking out a succubus looking for drunk, easy prey at Jungle. But Tuesday night at the club was also amature pole-dancing night, and the drag queens descended on Stiles like starving vultures in the desert as soon as he walked through the door. He was on stage, sans pants and wearing eyeliner in seconds.

By the end of the song, Stiles had found his groove and the succubus was eliminated. Derek jumped on stage and threw Stiles—naked except for an unwarranted amount of body glitter—over his shoulder, carrying him away to the riotous cheers of the crowd.

 **Due, Fade, Password** (10/10/2018)

Derek rapped on the glass window, and the curtain swung back, revealing Stiles’ smirk.

“What’s the password, Sourwolf?”

“It’s open this window or I’ll rip your throat out.”

Stiles laughed, letting Derek in. “What’s it this time? It’s been too peaceful; we’re due for shenanigans.”

“A basilisk.” Derek laid down in Stiles’ bed as he turned to the computer. It wasn’t that Derek didn’t want to help, it was just that here, in this room that smelled like home, everything else faded away, and he could rest.

Hours later, Stiles gently squeezed his leg. “Hey, wake up. I found something.”

 **Map, Ditch, Thunder** (10/12/2018)

Erica’s mapped out the best houses to score peanut butter cups, and the neighbors passing out gramma candies fall victim to a rousing game of ding-dong-ditch.

“No way,” Erica says at the Hale house driveway. “That one’s haunted.”

“Chicken,” Stiles taunts, flapping his arms and clucking. He thunders onto the porch before she can bludgeon him with her bulging pillowcase.

An older boy answers the door, plops candy into Stiles’ sack when he yells, “trick or treat,” and smiles with glowing blue eyes and razor sharp teeth. “Who’s chicken now?”

Stiles screams and runs, chased by the boys smug laughter.

 **Trust, Sweet, Wake** (10/15/2018)

 _Slap_. “Derek!” _Slap_. “Wake up! Damn it, you need to open your eyes!” _Slap_. Trust Derek to go and get himself hooked up with another crazy chick. _Slap_. If they both somehow survive, Stiles is so going to murder him.

His bicep and shoulder are starting to burn, and there’s a bittersweet ache behind his eyes. _Slap_. “Derek, please,” he pleads. _One more time,_ he thinks desperately. He raises his hand once more, fingers curling into a tight fist. Before he can swing, there’s a firm grip around his wrist, and Derek’s eyes fly open.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes, “thank god.”

 **Eye, Moon, Beat** (10/17/2018)

It’s a new moon, and the woods are so black his eyes barely adjust. They’ve been at this for weeks; as soon as the sun sinks below the horizon Stiles is out training, gaining agility and speed in a mock game of cat and mouse (or boy and wolf, if you will).

He jumps the stream, heart beating out of his chest and the tree line tantalizingly close when Derek bursts through the brush, grabbing his arm.

“You’ve got to get faster,” Derek snarls. “Let’s go again.” Stiles doesn’t say it but he thinks, maybe I want to be caught.

 **Nap, Flower, Swim** (10/19/2018)

The afternoon fades to evening, glasses of wine replacing cups of coffee. Scott and Cora talk about Stiles and Derek. Together they remember, bring both men back to life, pass them to and fro, looking at them, listening to them. It’s a ritual, annual visits swimming in sentimentality but necessary to soothe the sharp deprivation. They turn to their memories like flowers reaching their faces toward the sun.

“Sometimes I wake up from a nap, and forget he’s gone,” Scott admits.

“I talk to Derek everyday,” Cora confesses.

“They loved each other.”

“I imagine, wherever they are, they still do.”

 **Hero, Say, Freeze** (10/22/2018)

Stiles throws open the door before the bell stops ringing. “Happy Halloween!” He says, bubbling with excitement for the first holiday in their new home.

The trick-or-treater—a little old, in Stiles’ opinion— is wearing a generic superhero mask and black clothing. Stiles trustingly holds out the candy bowl. The teen snatches the entire dish, then runs for their life. “Hey! Freeze thief!” Stiles shrieks.

“Wha—?” Derek comes out of the kitchen, half-eaten snickers bar in his mouth.

Stiles gestures wildly toward the candy mugger scurrying down their driveway. “Sic ‘em.” Derek’s grin is predatory as he sprints out the door.

  
**Standard, Color, Private** (10/24/2018)

In early October Scott ropes him into working at the local haunted house so he can woo some girl. Stiles gets stuffed inside a standard clown ensemble; cheap plastic mask reeking of sweat and hotdogs, and billowy rainbow-colored pants sliding down his hips.

The guy working in the next section, Derek, has a way cooler costume. He’s a leather-wearing werewolf with excellent face makeup (except for the missing eyebrows, that’s strange) who takes exceptional pleasure scaring children.

By Halloween Scott’s shot down, Stiles gets pantsed by a kid, and Derek shows him exactly where his eyebrows go (privately, of course).

 **Loud, Guess, Bread** (10/26/2018)

Derek should’ve guessed Stiles would beeline straight for the slutty costumes.

“It’s your responsibility as a super hot dude to rock this outfit.” Stiles holds up red booty shorts and plastic pointy horns.

Derek tries not to grimace, but something in demeanor broadcasts his discomfort loud and clear.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles shoves the costume back onto the rack.

“I’m proud of how I look but…” He doesn’t need to continue, because Stiles steps into his arms, smelling like warm bread and the air after it rains. Derek takes a deep breath.

“Let’s find something else. Monk robe?

Derek laughs. “Perfect.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
